


Emissary

by Ozma



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascian, Character Study, Other, Politics, the warrior of light has issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/pseuds/Ozma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warrior of Light is sick of fake smiles, games, half-truths, and withheld information. Post-Heavensward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emissary

**Author's Note:**

> While not entirely related to this story, if you've not done so yet, you really should do the DRK quest chain. The Warrior of Light has issues and this is a character study on some of those issues. There are no spoilers for the chain and the relationship is very meta, so don't worry if you haven't done it yet.

As a naturally neutral entity, adventurers make the best emissaries, you muse as you blow out the last candle.

Your actions have you known by name and face in every city-state in Eorzea, as much as any leader in international politics is known to the public. You’ve destroyed primals and dragons, acts that have ended years of war and saved an entire generation.

You've brokered peace with beast tribes, though they are are surprisingly open and far less insular than many leaders or high ranking members of the Spoken race factions. You barely need to convince them at all; so long as they are not Tempered and you communicate and provide aid, they are quite accommodating.

You’ve explored the technology of an ancient Empire and fought a modern one while asking for nothing in return.

Trust is your key to politics, and Eorzea's trust in you is so secure that not even Teledji-Adeledji's condemnations were enough to break it.

A smile here, reassurance there; “I’ll handle it.” you’ve said more times than you can count with a smile when only uncertainty and dread fill you.

_He offers you a familiar reassuring smile as you sit on the bed beside him; his gentleness is welcome in your exhaustion._

The unspoken promise of protection. _“_ We’ll be there when needed.” is all you need to say and no one doubts it.

_He holds you close, arms enveloping you as you strip off your clothes -_

You must balance political needs of multiple countries and weave your way through their policies, but, like most emissaries, there is only so much you can do as an outsider.  There comes a time when you must step back; Ul’dah was a mistake, your hands dipped too deeply in the quicksand.

_\- but only for a moment; he pulls back slightly, to put distance between your bodies._

You tell the people what they want to hear. “We’ll continue to monitor and neutralize the primal threat when necessary.” is something Minfilia repeated frequently to the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance and, at the time, you thought nothing of it. It was just a promise she always made. When you started repeating “The dragons are not a threat anymore; the war has ended.” to the citizens of Ishgard, you came to realize the importance of such generic promises in keeping calm and peace in a population ready to explode.

“ _I want you.” He does not raise his voice above a whisper, nor does he need to. You want him too, more than words can express._

You offer hints of truth in your explanations, withholding knowledge when necessary. Your word, with the support of Estinien, was the only explanation necessary to drive Aymeric into action and start the systematic dismantling of the Holy See’s power. Few ask the method or why you know what you know; it is better that way.

When you absolutely must, you know minds are open books for locating information that suits your purposes.  Even now, you remember the feel of hard scales and soft eyes and blood and rage - body-absorbing, mind-collapsing, rage that makes you shake, long after experiencing it secondhand.

They are as natural as breathing, now, these political games.

Y _ou breathe in time with him, back pressed to his chest as he runs his hands over your bare thighs and stomach, up your shoulders and neck and through your hair._

The games are your responsibility, your duty, in keeping Her peace.

The thought is sobering and your body feels as if it has been doused in frigid water.

“Why are you here?” You ask Elidibus, feeling very heavy from your introspection, arousal gone. “Minfilia is the one strong in the Echo; I can barely use it at will.”

You are not a child; this strange, liberating relationship cannot last. Three of his kind are dead, two by your hand.

“You are still learning; mastery takes time.” He responds with an evasive, half-answer – not even an answer at all, truly. Elidibus subtly dances around the important aspects of your question. Sensing your annoyance, he continues, without pause or hesitation, “I am here because everyone must devote time to their needs -” you look though the darkness to the door of your Inn room and pretend to ignore the commotion down the hall “- away from distractions.”

Elidibus tells you exactly what you want to hear, seemingly reading your mind and prying your desires from it.

His large hands move down to massage your sore shoulders as if they can absorb the exhaustion from your body and lift the invisible weight from your chest.

Elidibus always tells you what you want to hear, his gentle, secure words promising solutions to your problems.

That’s what Ascians do; perpetually neutral, they whisper secrets and solutions no mortal should know.

That’s what the Warrior of Light does; perpetually neutral, you know secrets no mortal should and offer solutions no mortal but you can provide.

There is nothing but lies, politics, and death in this eternal dance. Another feigned smile to a guardsman in promise you will bring him ale and supper, another noble who desperately clings to his power and scrambles to gain control of a changing city, another primal whose aether only you can dissipate – more dreams and hopes you destroy for the greater good.

Ascians know the steps better than you ever will; they've thousands of years of experience. A deep, draining sense of bitterness overwhelms you.

“I’m tired.” Honest, vulnerable words murmured and barely intended to be spoken at all. For one simple moment, all of your shields drop, your mistakes impossible to ignore, your misguided trust and hopes burning away your energy. You do not even have the energy to scream.

Elidibus stops his massage, a deep inhale the only evidence he heard you at all. You can feel tenseness over his body behind you, sharply in contrast to the loose, relaxed warmth he usually provides. When the Ascian finally releases his breath, it is a quiet sigh, uncharacteristic of the pleasant, confident man you thought you knew – the one you desperately wanted.

“It will only become more difficult over time.” It is well-hidden, but you sense vulnerable exhaustion in the low, strange words – words that, for the first time since you’ve met him, are most certainly not the ones you want to hear.

It is, perhaps, the most honest statement he has ever said to you.

The sounds from the distant room die away and you focus on trying to find something, anything, that is not your companion. The pregnant silence is sour on your tongue; there are no words. What words can there be, now that the curtain has been lifted?

After what seems to be a millennia, the Emissary finally breaks the silence. “I am called Elidibus.” He falls silent again. Seemingly unknown to both of you, Elidibus has been clenching your hand painfully, your pulse tingling and pounding under calloused flesh. The man stares long and hard at the hand he clenches, as if it’s one of the most foreign things he has ever seen. “Yes, I suppose a name exchange is sufficient for a first meeting.” The weariness in his posture, the quietness of his voice, and the strange insecurity in his grasp all clash with the pleasant expression his red mask tries to enforce.

As if the world starts its turn once again, you blink, dumbfounded at his strange behavior.

All at once you understand. You never knew him; he never knew you. You have allowed a stranger to touch your body and learn your mind.

“It’s a plea-” You answer quickly and irrationally; you meet so many new people daily who introduce themselves to the fabled Warrior of Light that, even as you do not intend to, an automated, familiar smile crosses your features.

You stop yourself, fighting the habitual response to pleasantries. This new acquaintance does not want something from you. He does not want to meet the Warrior of Light; he already knows the legend. You fall into prolonged silence again. Your eyes bore into your alien hand, not entirely unlike Elidibus a moment before.

No more games.

No more lies.

You finally look up and formally offer him your name – just your given one – without the smile or pleasantries.

The Emissary does not remove his hood and mask, but perhaps, in time, you will be permitted to see beneath them.

**Author's Note:**

> Elidibus is extremely difficult to work with simply because the Ascians are so mysterious with the information we have now. I want to write so much about him, but I don't want my story to become "outdated" by new information, so to speak.


End file.
